


not a synonym for impossible

by Siria



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Improbable was not a synonym for impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not a synonym for impossible

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cate for betaing!

"So," Alfredo said. They were sitting out on the stoop, soaking up the morning sunshine and drinking two mugs of dark roast with all the enjoyment of people who'd had to get up much earlier than usual. The street was quiet, apart from a handful of people out jogging or walking their dogs; the house behind them was equally peaceable. "You going to go bail him out?"

"In a little while," Joan answered. She stuck her bare feet out into a patch of sunlight and inspected them. The polish on the nail of her left big toe had chipped; she'd have to fix that after her shower. "Gregson's got him in a nice quiet cell all to himself. Won't be able to get up to any mischief."

Alfredo raised his eyebrows at her. "Maybe, maybe not."

Joan shrugged. That was a point she had to concede. She'd once seen the man spark an international diplomatic incident armed with little more than a stapler and a roll of packing tape. "But," she did point out, "Marcus has a taser and he's not afraid to use it."

"Hrm." Alfredo took a sip of his coffee. "Crazy bastard would probably think that getting tased was an empirical experience or something."

"Also true," Joan said, "but at least whatever happens, it'll be outside of the house. Miss Hudson's still pretty upset about the acid incident."

"We all learned a lot about hydrochloric acid that day," Alfredo said. Joan didn't think she'd met anyone with a deadpan sarcasm as refined as Alfredo's since Lucy, her room-mate during her freshman year of undergrad. Still, the dry tone of his voice didn't distract her one bit from the furtive expression she'd seen flicker across his face. 

"You should tell her, you know," she said, nudging the side of his sneaker with her left foot. 

"Tell who what?" Alfredo said, and he was pretty good at pretence, but Joan was a trained sober companion who'd spent several months living with Sherlock Holmes. She could spot prevarication as easily as she could diagnose measles. 

"Miss Hudson," Joan said, spelling it out in unavoidable terms. "You should tell her that you like her."

Alfredo looked like only the most resolute sense of his own personal dignity was keeping him from scuffing his toe against the steps like an overgrown school kid. 

"I don't," he said, staring down at his coffee as if it were all of a sudden the most fascinating thing in the world, "it's not like… I mean…"

"Oh please," Joan said, rolling her eyes. "Within two weeks of her starting to work here, your visits began to coincide with the days of the week you know she's going to be here. That one time she had to reschedule, you showed up again the very next day with an offer to exercise Clyde—Clyde, who is a tortoise—which frankly is such a terrible excuse that I had contact embarrassment. Plus I saw you borrow one of Sherlock's copies of the _Iliad_ last Thursday."

"Can't a guy just be interested in animal welfare and improving his mind with classic literature?" Alfredo said. 

"He can be," Joan said gently, "but given the way you look at her, I don't think that's your primary motivation." She nudged him again. "Seriously, you should say something."

Alfredo was quiet for a long time. "Lot of reasons why it wouldn't work."

"I know," Joan said. She wasn't going to patronise him: there were a lot of reasons why a black Latino ex-con from Brooklyn was unlikely to end up with a white trans woman from rural Nebraska. But improbable, as Sherlock would no doubt say while bouncing on the balls of his feet, was not a synonym for impossible. Joan learned that anew every day. "That doesn't mean you can't give it a shot."

"You're just going to keep bugging me till I ask her out, aren't you?" Alfredo said with a sigh. 

Joan grinned. "Innate stubbornness is what got me through med school. That and caffeine."

Alfredo shot her a wary look out of the corner of his eye. "You think she'd actually go out with me?"

"She likes smart, thoughtful men who treat her with respect," Joan said. "I don't see any reason why she would say no to you asking her out for lunch." She paused for a moment, waiting until Alfredo had taken another mouthful of coffee before saying, "Also there's the fact that she deliberately lingers in the living room on Wednesdays until you show up, and I definitely saw her check out your ass one time."

Alfredo choked on his coffee in a pretty gratifying way. Joan had the sneaking suspicion that Sherlock was being a bad influence on her. 

She stood and picked up the empty coffee mugs before patting Alfredo on the shoulder with her free hand. "Miss Hudson should be over soon. I advise you to use your words."

"You," he told her, once he'd finally caught his breath, "are not at all who I thought you'd be, Joan Watson."

"I know," Joan said, and smiled. "That's okay. I didn't turn out to be who I thought, either."


End file.
